


No Escape From Reality

by mysticanni



Series: The Real Life [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Coming In Pants, Crossdressing, Extremely Dubious Consent, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Past Domestic Violence, i have no idea what i am doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: On the cusp of stardom, the band reveal secrets they would not want the press to discover once they are famous.





	1. Chapter One - Freddie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I'm new to this. Grateful for any feedback.

Chapter One

  
Freddie

At first, when Roger had cheerfully announced that a tour would be just the thing to help them bond and that he would organise it, John had been certain it would never happen. Roger was lovely, of course he was, but John was sometimes amazed that he managed to survive on a day to day basis without constant adult supervision and intervention. Roger was vibrant, colourful, charming. It was just...John would never have described him as organised.

Yet here John was standing outside of a community hall in a village in Cornwall after another successful gig. Not only had Roger organised a tour, they were actually making money. Not a lot of money, admittedly, but, still...

John had to admit, to himself, at least, that Roger had surprised him. He also admitted privately that he was really enjoying playing with them, especially with Roger. They just seemed to fit together so well, like a hand in a glove or peas in a pod or strawberries and cream. It felt right. It felt good. John felt happier than he had done in ages.

He sipped his pint and watched as Roger and two local youths manhandled the drum kit into the van. Roger seemed to find acquaintances to act as unofficial roadies everywhere they went. Roger appeared to know everyone and be almost universally adored. John enjoyed basking in the adoration-by-association bestowed on the rest of the band.

That was why the incident earlier that day had been so odd. They’d been having a pub lunch, sat outside at a picnic table, enjoying the sunshine when two men had approached. The men, one sporting a blue baseball cap and one with a shaven head, had halted next to the bench Roger and Brian were occupying.

Brian had noticed them too. ‘Hello, lovely day isn’t it?’ he greeted them pleasantly.

The men were both scowling. John wondered if this was their usual table in sunny weather and prepared to be amused by an anticipated battle over ownership.

He was not expecting the man with the blue cap to suddenly punch Roger’s shoulder. Roger flinched. He looked up at the men with an expression John found hard to read. Freddie was tense next to John. John revised possible entertainment and amusement to possible fight.

‘We don’t want your sort here, Taylor,’ the man with the blue cap growled.

Brian opened his mouth and John desperately willed him to shut it again. He was relieved when Roger responded first. ‘We’re just passing through. Gig tonight at the hall and then we’re gone.’

The man who had spoken snorted. ‘See that you are. Nancy-boy whores are not welcome. Don’t make us teach you the hard way.’ He glared at each of them in turn before swinging round and walking away, with his shaven headed friend trailing after him.

‘Are you okay, dear?’ Freddie asked his eyes full of concern. He stretched his hand across the table towards Roger, who withdrew his own hands down onto his lap and looked down at them.

‘I’m fine, Freddie,’ Roger replied.

  
'What was all that about?’ Brian wondered.

  
‘Nothing.’ Roger ran one hand through his already messy blond hair. He shrugged and tried to smile, not altogether successfully. ‘History. Y’know?’

John did not know and he didn’t think the others did either but none of them had spoken of it again.

  
Roger had been uncharacteristically subdued for the rest of the day. Now, van loaded, he bounded over to John grinning. John offered him the pint glass he was holding and Roger gulped gratefully from it. ‘Thanks, Deaky. Reckon we’ve got enough for fish ‘n’ chips. And there’s a nice little beach near here. Thought we could camp there.’

  
Accommodation on this tour was basic but fun.

  
*

  
They built a fire on the beach and sat round it, stomachs full of fish and chips, swigging from cans of cheap cider. ‘So,’ Brian said, taking a gulp of warm cider, ‘are you going to tell us what that bloke was going on about at lunchtime, Roger?’

  
‘He did seem rather cross with you, darling,’ Freddie noted. ‘Perhaps you should tell us. That way we can be prepared for any...unpleasantness...’

  
Roger was silent. He had gone still. Roger was hardly ever still, John thought. He was restless even in his sleep.

  
‘Nothing to say, Freddie,’ Roger muttered.

  
‘Perhaps,’ Freddie continued, ignoring Roger, ‘we should all share our secrets. This whole trip is a bonding exercise, isn’t it, dear? Let us tell each other the secrets we hope the press never get hold of once we are famous!’ He clapped his hands enthusiastically and looked expectantly at the others.

  
Brian laughed rather uneasily. ‘Freddie, none of us have the sort of secrets we would be worried about the press finding out about! We are all ordinary!’

  
‘Speak for yourself, darling! Everyone has secrets. I’ll start, shall I?'

  
*

  
John settled himself more comfortably in the sand. The night was warm. The light was fading fast now. The four of them sat marooned in the circle of light cast by the fire as the darkness encroached.

  
Freddie started by declaring: ‘I am gay, darlings!’ causing Brian to splutter cider everywhere. Roger leaned over and rubbed Brian’s back.

  
John was not entirely sure that was a secret.

  
‘Bloody hell, Freddie! What are you talking about? You are with Mary!’ Brian exclaimed.

  
Oh. Perhaps it was a secret, then.

  
Even in the fading light John could see how uncomfortable Freddie looked. ‘Have you realised this recently?’ John asked.

  
Freddie looked grateful. ‘Exactly, my dear! I’ve been...curious...shall we say, for a while now and recently I met a gentleman in a club and...well...it just felt right...’

  
‘You cheated on Mary with a man?’ Brian screeched.

  
‘I am telling you a secret that I do not wish to become public knowledge,’ Freddie pointed out, ‘but which I trust my best friends – my family – with.’

  
Roger slung his arm around Freddie’s shoulder. ‘Love you, Fred.’

  
‘Thank you, darling. I shall have to tell Mary, of course, but please allow me to do so in my own time.’

  
They all murmured their agreement to this.

  
John reflected, rather guiltily, that he was beguiled by Freddie’s dark eyes and silky hair. He admired the curve of Roger’s arse and his big blue eyes. He would like to feel Brian’s long fingers on his body. Would he have to make a similar confession? How could he tell them he loved them? That he didn’t know if it was just them or if other men would make him feel the same way?

  
He thought it might just be them.

  
Brian had asked how long Freddie had known he might prefer blokes for. Freddie was explaining that while at boarding school he had some encounters with older boys and then one of the teachers had taken an interest in him.

  
‘Jesus, Freddie!’ Brian exploded. ‘How old were you when this child abuse took place?’

  
Roger crawled over to Freddie, who had flinched away from Brian’s anger. Roger wrapped his arms around Freddie.

  
‘Sorry,’ Brian apologised, running a hand through his mass of curls. ‘Freddie, you do know what the teacher did was wrong, don’t you?’

  
Freddie shrugged. ‘I do now,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I was around eleven or twelve when it started. I was around fourteen or fifteen when he got tired of me.’

  
When he got too old, John thought and shuddered. He felt almost unbearably sad. He was glad Roger was cuddling Freddie.

‘Perhaps we should highlight abuse once we are famous,’ John suggested.

  
Freddie shook his head vehemently. ‘I want us to be known for our glorious music, Deaky, darling, not because I am a freak.’

  
Everyone assured him he was not a freak.

  
‘Regardless, I do not want everyone to know about this. I do not want anyone to know about this, unless I choose to tell them.’

  
They all solemnly promised they would never tell anyone.

  
‘Thank you, my darlings. So. That is my secret. Who is next?’  



	2. Chapter Two - Brian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this and to those who have left comments and kudos!

Brian

Brian stared into the fire. He could hear the wood crackle as it burned and the waves caressing the shore.  
He glanced at Roger and Freddie huddled together. Roger’s blond tresses glinted in the firelight.

  
He thought about Freddie’s confession. He thought about the first time he had met Roger.

  
He had never seen anyone so beautiful, male or female. He had gawped at Roger when he had opened the door. Despite having hitherto only found women attractive Brian had felt his cock take an interest in the gorgeous man in front of him.  
Tim had nudged him. ‘Uh. Hi. I think we spoke on the ‘phone? I’m Brian. Brian May. Guitar. Uh. This is Tim Staffell, the singer and bass player.’

  
‘I’m Roger. Your drummer. Come on in.’

  
They had followed Roger into his bed-sit. Roger was explaining that he had promised his mother he would not join a band so he had left his drum kit at home to help him keep that promise, therefore he could not play the drums for them.

  
Brian was dimly aware of Tim’s raised eyebrow and knew that he should probably be concerned about what kind of absolute flake would arrange an audition to be the drummer of a band knowing they would have no way of displaying their talent. Or lack of talent.

  
But Roger was gorgeous and Brian’s mind had been over-ruled by another part of his body and Brian found himself saying that was just fine, they could just chat. Tim looked at him as if he had just grown another head.

  
Roger had made tea. He made a good cup of tea. Brian looked around the little room. Roger’s hair was wild and his clothes colourful but the room was neat. Brian did not think he had ever met anyone like Roger before.

  
When Roger sang for them (‘I c’n sing as well as drum.’) Brian came in his pants like a teenager.

  
*

  
‘How about you, Brian, darling?’ Freddie said, now, snapping him back to the present. ‘Tell us your secret.’

  
*

  
It had started with Roger. Then he had met Freddie: bewitching, flamboyant Freddie. Then: John, with his long hair and long legs and dry sense of humour.

  
However, his weird crush on his best friends was a secret Brian intended to take to his grave. He sighed.

  
‘I had an unusual childhood, I suppose.’

  
‘How was it unusual?’ John asked. If he had thought about Brian’s childhood at all he would have imagined suburban respectability.

  
Brian thought of his parents. ‘My parents are wonderful. I’ve been very fortunate.’

  
‘But?’ Freddie prompted.

  
‘I should have had an older sister.’

  
She had been still-born. His mother had never quite stopped grieving for her. Brian thought that his birth had helped his father. Although still sad about his lost daughter, Brian’s father had rejoiced in his son.

  
In a way, Brian reflected, his arrival had intensified his mother’s grief. Yes, she now had a son however she was plagued with ‘what might have been’ thoughts about her daughter.

  
She played out some of those scenarios with Brian. She bought dresses for him to wear, all lace and frills. She let his hair grow long and tied it with ribbons. (Frequently lamenting how difficult to style it was.) Brian’s mother taught him to sew and bake cakes.

‘It wasn’t like that all of the time,’ Brian assured them. ‘Not even most of the time. But sometimes she needed me to be a girl.’

  
The firelight flickered over their faces. ‘She wasn’t crazy,’ he snapped, defensively.

  
Roger shifted over from where he had been snuggled against Freddie and wrapped himself around Brian. He was warm and smelled of stale cigarette smoke and stale sweat and the lemony soap he used.

  
The family had not talked about it. Eventually, as Brian had grown older; had learned that other boys did not dress as girls, he refused to do it. He thought his father may have spoken to his mother. It had stopped. ‘And I missed it, sometimes, in a way. And I still feel guilty for taking that away from her.’

  
‘Oh, Brian,’ Roger breathed into his ear.

  
‘So,’ Brian concluded, ‘I am definitely a freak.’

  
A freak who loves the boy currently draped over me, he added silently, not to mention the two watching.

  
*

  
Horribly aware of the sticky cum in his pants, he had blurted out: ‘You’re in! Welcome to Smile!’ once Roger had sung for them on that first day of knowing him.

  
Later, as they walked away from Roger’s bed-sit, Tim had turned to him. ‘What was that, Brian? We didn’t hear him play. He could be a crap drummer, for all we know! He is better looking than me. He can sing better than me. Did you find us a drummer or have I just been replaced as lead singer?’

  
‘I just thought he would be easy to work with,’ Brian offered. He reflected that Roger was better looking than most people. And his voice! Brian wanted to write songs for that voice to sing. He had to have Roger in the band.

  
*

  
Roger pulled away from Brian and lit a cigarette. As the match flared John realised how dark it had become. The night was cloudy and even on the occasions the moon slid into view it was a tiny sliver of light.

  
The fire warmed his front but his back felt chilly, as if the darkness was pressing cold hands against him. He shivered.

  
‘Cold, Deaks?’ Roger asked.

  
For a moment, a split second, in the firelight, Roger’s face looked like a skull. Dark hollows for eyes. Bone white. John shuddered again. ‘Goose walked over my grave,’ he replied, uneasily.

  
‘Your turn next, Roger,’ Brian suggested.

  
John watched as Roger folded in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His face rested on his knees, hidden by a curtain of hair. Watching Roger make himself as small as possible made John want to rescue him. He loved Roger. He loved all of them. He felt a sudden urge to stop this before something (someone) broke.

  
‘Yes,’ Freddie decided. ‘You next, Roger.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I'd love to hear what you think!


	3. Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this, left kudos and commented. There isn't anything really explicit in this chapter but in this fictional world Roger's story is not a happy one so please heed the tags and don't read if you think it might upset you.

Roger

  
Roger was nibbling the skin around the nail of his index finger, as he tended to do when he was unsure or anxious about something. John scrambled to his feet, sand cascading from his clothes and moved so that he was sitting behind Roger, his legs splayed out on either side of Roger’s legs. He slid his arms around Roger’s waist and Roger leaned back against him, in a sudden, needy, gesture. ‘You’re okay, I’ve got you,’ John murmured in his ear, resting his chin on Roger’s shoulder.

  
Roger reflected that John was too sweet and innocent to have secrets. Roger sometimes felt as if he had more than enough secrets for the whole world. Which to share?

  
‘I don’t know where to start,’ he mumbled.

  
‘At the beginning,’ Brian stated firmly.

  
Roger snorted. He wasn’t sure he knew where the beginning was. He knew he didn’t have Brian’s courage or Freddie’s bravery.

  
‘You don’t have to,’ John murmured, earning himself a glare from Freddie.

  
‘It will do you good to get it off your chest, darling,’ Freddie declared.

  
Roger sighed. Perhaps it was best if they knew the worst about him now. Would they want him to leave the band, though? He wasn’t sure he could bear that. His stomach lurched. He sucked on his cigarette. ‘You’ll hate me,’ he muttered.

  
‘No,’ Brian and John said in surprising unison.

  
‘Never,’ Brian added.

  
‘That’s right, dear,’ Freddie agreed. ‘Go on, Roggie,’ he urged.

  
‘My earliest memory,’ Roger began.

  
‘You don’t have to go back that far!’ Brian groaned.

  
Roger glared at him. ‘Is of my father punching my mother in the stomach in our kitchen,’ he continued.

  
Brian looked embarrassed and Roger felt momentarily victorious. Then he was back cowering under the kitchen table, listening to his mother crying and begging and his father shouting.

  
*

  
It was not the opening Freddie had expected. ‘Nancy-boy’ the man earlier had said. Freddie had thought, had hoped, if he was being honest with himself, that Roger would announce he was gay too. Gay and in love with them all, as Freddie was. That should have been Freddie’s real confession: how he longed to kiss Deaky; to feel Brian’s calloused fingers caress him; to ravish Roger. He felt himself blush as he thought of the things he wanted to do to Roger.

  
Now was not the time, he reprimanded himself. Now, Roger was baring his soul because Freddie had asked him to, had asked them all to, and he had not expected this; had not expected Roger to be so distressed.

  
Freddie had intended to tell them all he loved them.

He had failed and now they seemed to be engaged in some sort of hellish competition to see who had the worst childhood.

  
This was not how he had intended this evening to go.

  
He could not have been wrong about them, could he? Had he misinterpreted the longing glances they sneaked at each other in makeshift changing rooms? The way he had seen Roger looking at Brian and Deaky, thinking he was concealed behind the drum kit? Was Brian’s obsession with taking photographs of them really about mastering the technicalities of taking a great shot rather than wanting to capture them on camera? Freddie didn’t think it was. He surely hadn’t imagined Deaky ogling Roger’s arse earlier on as they got ready to go on stage. Freddie had been admiring that view too.

  
He had thought for a long time that Roger would be the one to say it. He had thought that although he had missed his chance tonight that Roger would save him. Now, though, Roger seemed to be thinking about something quite different to Freddie’s eyes or Deaky’s legs or Brian’s hands.

  
*

  
Even at an early age Roger seemed to have known instinctively that what his father did to his mother was wrong. Known, somehow, that it was wrong to hurt another person like that.

  
On his first day of school he had to be physically dragged there; pulled away from the post he was clinging to, so strong was his instinct to stay at home, to protect his mother.

  
‘I couldn’t protect her, of course.’

  
*

  
Freddie listened in horror. Roger was going to confess to some terrible trauma, he just knew it. He was about to tell them he had been forced to murder his father in order to protect his mother. Did it count as murder if it was totally justifiable and necessary? Manslaughter?

  
His failure to admit his feelings had caused this, he thought miserably. He had envisioned a bonding exercise full of declarations of love and tenderness and instead it had turned into this nightmare.

  
*

  
His mother had tried to leave on more than one occasion. She had taken Roger and his sister to stay with various sympathetic relatives and friends. She had always gone back. He had always been so contrite. Full of promises that it would not happen again. Promises that were always broken.

  
Life had continued full of tension, everyone walking on eggshells, until Roger’s little sister had become involved. Then they had left. Left in the middle of the night, taking only what they could carry. Moving far and fast to escape, arriving broken and exhausted in a new town, to start new, bewildering lives.

  
It had not been easy.

  
‘Mum tried to hide it from us, but I knew. Not the whole picture, maybe, but enough to know we were struggling financially.’

  
His mother had been delighted when he got a scholarship to a good school. ‘They wanted me for the choir,’ Roger explained. ‘Wanted my voice.’

  
Brian nodded. That was understandable.

  
It turned out that the choirmaster had wanted Roger for something else too.

  
‘Oh, darling,’ Freddie breathed.

  
Brian felt his stomach flip over.

  
The choirmaster had a group of like-minded friends. Roger was very popular with them. ‘There were other boys,’ Roger told them, matter-of-fact, breathing cigarette smoke out through his nose, like a dragon, ‘but they all liked me.’

  
One of them had liked to dress Roger as a girl. ‘The Dress-Up man, I called him,’ Roger said. ‘I liked dressing as a girl,’ he added, glancing at Brian, then Freddie, ‘and that confused me.’

  
He had been too afraid to tell anyone. He had been scared he would be expelled. That his mother would be disappointed if that happened, his chance of a good education gone.

  
Once he was too old for the tastes of the other men in the group, Mr. Dress-Up had remained fascinated by him and continued to see him. At home, money was still tight, so Roger asked Mr. Dress-Up man for payment.

  
John held Roger tightly as Freddie gasped involuntarily and Brian spluttered. ‘You’re safe, I’ve got you,’ he murmured in Roger’s ear.

  
‘So, when that man said....’ Brian floundered.

  
‘When he called me a nancy-boy whore he meant it literally, Brian, yes,’ Roger rasped.

  
‘Oh, darling,’ Freddie whispered.

  
‘So,’ Roger said, ‘I got some money out of him.’

  
It transpired that Mr. Dress-Up knew some other men who also liked pretty boys and who would pay to spend time with Roger.

  
It was a small group. They met on the last Friday of every month in the village hall the band had played in earlier, under the pretext of holding a poker game.

  
Then, one day, a stranger entered the hall, having been told at the village pub about the poker game in the hall. ‘We might have got away with it,’ Roger mused, ‘because we always had a table with cards on it, just in case.’

  
Unfortunately, the stranger had been attracted to the only apparent female in the poker group and had made a beeline for Roger. The other men had tried to say they didn’t need, or want, anyone else playing and had tried to warn the man away from Roger.

  
The stranger, who had been drinking heavily before making an appearance at the hall, said the pretty little lady ought to decide for herself what she wanted and made a drunken grab for Roger. Roger had pushed him away and told him to watch it. Hearing his voice, the stranger realised that Roger was not, in fact, female.

  
‘He clutched his chest, seemed to go into cardiac arrest,’ Roger said. ‘Everyone panicked. Everyone else scarpered. I called for an ambulance, using the highest, most female voice I could. Then I legged it too.’

  
He had the presence of mind to grab the bag containing his normal clothes. He had been relieved to find that Mr. Dress-Up had been waiting nearby to give him a lift home.

  
Usually, when he returned home from these sessions, he was back in his normal clothes and his mother and sister were in bed. Still in shock, it did not occur to him that he was arriving home at an earlier time, dressed as a woman, and as he crept in the kitchen door, sobbing, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea.

  
She stared for a moment. ‘Roger?’ Then, realising how distressed he was, she stood up and pulled him into a hug. ‘What’s wrong?’

  
‘I think he’s dead!’ Roger had wailed. ‘I killed him!’

  
Over a pot of tea, he told his mother the whole story. He had begged her not to go to the police about the choirmaster and Mr. Dress-Up and their friends. She had agreed, very reluctantly.

  
She had also made a few discreet enquires about the stranger and they discovered he was a cousin of the man with the blue cap, and had been visiting him on the night in question. He had survived his heart attack, which had turned out to be a panic attack, and had not made a fuss, possibly because blue cap’s older brother was a regular at the ‘poker game’ although he had not been there that night.

  
‘So,’ Roger concluded, ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m a prostitute who likes dressing as a woman and left a man for dead after causing his heart attack.’ His voice quivered. ‘I understand if you want me to leave.’

  
‘Leave?’ Brian echoed.

  
‘The band,’ Roger whispered.

  
‘Why on earth would we want you to do that, you idiot?’ John wondered.

  
Roger sniffed and John realised that he was crying. ‘If my secrets are ever made public...’

  
‘Rog, if your secrets are ever made public then we will deal with it,’ Freddie told him fiercely. ‘You are one of us. You can’t leave.’

  
‘Not even if you want to,’ John added, only partly joking.

  
Roger gulped and nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He gently eased away from John. ‘Need a piss,’ he explained gruffly.

  
He wanted a moment alone, John realised. He shivered. It would be his turn next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far then thank you for reading! Will John make everything better in the last chapter? Let me know what you think! I am @mysticanni on Tumblr too, which I am also new to and inept at.


	4. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have read this and stuck with it to the end and to everyone who has left comments and kudos. You are all fabulous!
> 
> (I think this chapter might be really short, but hopefully it is satisfying despite that!)

John

  
Freddie remained alone by the fire. Deaky had muttered something about collecting more driftwood for the fire. He could see Brian standing at the edge of the water, looking out to sea. He could not see Roger.

  
He wondered if he should have gone after Roger. Usually he could tell if Roger really wanted to be alone or if he actually wanted someone to go after him. Tonight Freddie couldn’t tell and that scared him.

  
Paralysed by indecision he had remained staring into the flames on his own. Well, this had been a total fucking fiasco, he thought bitterly. Perhaps Deaky would confess to being a serial killer or something, just to top it all off perfectly.

  
The worst thing of all was that he should already have known all this. They were his best friends, first and foremost, and until now he had never known the damage that had been inflicted on them.

  
*

  
Brian stared out at the waves gently lapping the shore. The moon was hidden again. He couldn’t see any stars. He felt it would have been easier if he could have; would have put things in perspective, reminded him how insignificant they all were.

  
Instead, all he could think about was that he had revealed things to them that he had never told another living soul. He thought Roger and Freddie had too.

  
In one way, he felt relieved that they now knew. It also made him feel very vulnerable, however.

  
He supposed the others felt the same way. Exposed.

  
He felt guilty, too. If he had been a better friend would they have confided in him before now?

  
He also felt very uneasy about Roger. Roger had said the choirmaster had wanted him for his voice, as Brian did, and had wanted him in other ways too, as Brian also did. Brian told himself it was different. Brian would never force Roger to do anything, and Roger was no longer a child; it was different, and yet Brian felt uneasy about it.

  
He told himself firmly that he was being ridiculous: he could not risk their friendship; he was never going to tell Roger, or the others, that he loved them, so what did it matter?

  
*

  
John muttered curses as he walked along the beach. He cursed the men who had abused Freddie and Roger. He cursed whatever fate had decided that Brian’s sister would be still-born. He cursed himself for never asking Freddie about his nightmares or asking Brian where he learned to mend clothes. Why had he never asked Roger how he had gained his uncanny ability to ‘read’ a room, sensing tension and anticipating any trouble? They were not the sort of questions you asked though, were they? Are we out of milk? Can I borrow your jumper? Did you have any childhood traumas?

  
He wanted to wrap them in cotton wool and keep them safe from all the things (people) in the world that might harm them.

  
*

  
Roger slowly made his way back to the fire. His face felt stiff with dried tears. He had taken off his shoes and socks and was paddling along, with the water swirling coldly round his ankles. He could see Brian ahead of him, standing very still and staring out to sea.

  
He wondered if they had been attracted to each other on some subconscious level; if they had recognised, deep down inside somewhere, that they were all, in one way or another, damaged. Deaky was the exception, of course. Deaky was pure, unsullied.

  
*

  
John had hoped that after they had all taken a break further talk of secrets would be forgotten. Once they had all settled back around the fire Freddie raised the subject again, however.

  
‘Do you have a secret, Deaky?’ he asked.

  
‘I don’t,’ John replied, ‘so we can all get some sleep.’

  
‘Deaky is too pure to have secrets,’ Roger murmured.

  
Freddie snorted. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’

  
*

  
Without realising it, John had edged closer to Roger and he jumped when Roger slipped his arm around his waist. Undeterred, Roger pulled him closer, murmuring, ‘You okay?’

  
John nodded. He had built up the fire and now watched sparks dance against the night sky. Roger did not remove his arm and John was glad.

  
Freddie bit his bottom lip and thought that it was too much to hope that Deaky might find the courage he had been lacking and confess that he was in love with them. Freddie no longer sure they all felt the same way. His silly game had distressed Brian and traumatised Roger and was now upsetting Deaky.

  
‘You don’t have to, darling. This was a silly idea,’ he said.

  
‘No,’ Brian snapped. ‘We’ve all done it.’

  
John raked his hands through his hair. He felt Roger bristle at Brian’s words. ‘It’s okay,’ John said quickly, ‘Of course I’ll do it. I just don’t really have a secret?’ It came out as a question and he silently cursed himself.

  
‘Too pure,’ Roger murmured.

  
Brian snorted. ‘He may look like butter wouldn’t melt but I am sure he has some secrets!’

  
John grinned, pressing against Roger’s side. ‘I’m not pure,’ he agreed, ‘but I think I might be quite dull.’

  
‘You are anything but dull,’ Roger assured him softly, startling him.

  
‘Well,’ John ignored Roger, not sure how to process how adoring he had sounded, ‘I suppose I had a bit of a breakdown, for want of another word, after my dad died.’ Saying it was still hard. He felt Roger press a kiss to the top of his head. While Roger was always affectionate the kiss seemed a more intimate gesture than usual.

  
Sighing, John rubbed his eyes. ‘I didn’t speak for quite a while.’ For over a year, he thought. ‘My memories are hazy, as if I’ve blocked painful memories but gone too far. I didn’t function very well. I still don’t, really. Still can’t cope with socialising with people. But that is who I am. Not a secret. You all know I’m a mess.’

  
‘You’re wonderful,’ Roger insisted.

  
John looked up at him. ‘You are very sentimental, Rog.’

Roger cleared his throat. He wriggled a bit. ‘Uh. Actually, I have another confession to make.’

  
‘Dearest, you have already won this game,’ Freddie joked, nervously, suddenly apprehensive about what Roger could possibly be about to reveal.

  
Roger’s laugh sounded nervous. ‘Uh. Oh, you might kick me out of the band for this but,’ he took a deep breath,’I’minlovewithyou. Allofyou,’ he said in a rush.

  
Brian stared at Roger. Had he just said...? Roger had hung his head, hiding behind his hair. ‘Um, Rog, sorry...Did you just say that you love me? Us?’ His voice cracked.

  
Roger nodded. His hair glimmered in the firelight. The moon crept out from behind a cloud. Time seemed to stop.

  
Freddie took a deep breath. ‘I love all of you too.’

  
‘So do I,’ Brian mumbled, and, being Brian, added, ‘I mean, to clarify: I love you all in a romantic sense.’ He looked hopeful. ‘That is what you mean, isn’t it?’

  
‘It is certainly what I mean, my loves,’ Freddie agreed.

  
Roger nodded. ‘Oh good,’ John felt joy (or perhaps hysteria, he wasn’t entirely sure) bubble up inside him. ‘If we are all in agreement, does that mean I can kiss you all now?’

  
Roger raised his head, slowly. ‘You...? I haven’t ruined everything?’

  
Freddie smiled. ‘I think you might have fixed everything, gorgeous.’

  
John made an impatient noise and cupped the back of Roger’s head with his hand, pulling him into a kiss. Roger’s lips were chapped and his hair was a sweaty tangle, in need of a wash, and John thought it was the sweetest kiss he had ever experienced.

  
He felt himself being tugged backwards. ‘My turn,’ Brian decided.

  
John huffed; then reached for Freddie.

  
Brian’s kiss was bruising, possessive. Roger gasped as Brian pulled away from him, still holding Roger’s upper arms in a vice-like grip. Brian was staring at him with such intensity that Roger shivered. ‘Mine,’ Brian growled. Roger shivered again and, fleetingly, wondered what he had just done.

  
‘Ours,’ Freddie corrected him, ‘and you’ve hogged him for quite long enough, dear. My turn.’

  
*

  
Freddie let a lock of Roger’s hair slip through his fingers. ‘My lovely, brave, boy.’ Freddie’s kiss was gentle. Loving.

  
Roger buried his face in Freddie’s shoulder. ‘Too much.’

  
‘Overwhelming,’ Freddie agreed. ‘I know, darling. It’s okay. We can take it slowly. We have the rest of our lives, after all.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who got to the end of this!
> 
> I'm not sure this counts as a completely happy ending, sorry! 
> 
> I have another couple of ideas related to this fic and also a couple of different ideas in the pipeline. 
> 
> One of the ideas not related to this seems to be winning the race to completion so far and is likely to be what I post next.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I would love to hear what you think.


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